


Epiphany/Apocalypse

by waldorph



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Apocalypse, Future Fic, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-31
Updated: 2008-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waldorph/pseuds/waldorph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel didn't bring Dean back just to (try to) save Sam.  There is, after all, the apocalypse to consider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epiphany/Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> written after 4x06

If anyone actually pressed the point, Dean would admit immediately and without shame that he has no idea what a howler monkey looks like. They sound terrifying enough- monkeys, except with howling: There can be no good there.

And, with his luck? Howler monkeys will herald the apocalypse with Lilith shouting, "Fly, my pretties!"

Dean's afraid of a lot of things. Stuff he probably wouldn't be afraid of if he led that normal life. If he really could say, "I'm out" to the life he leads. If he'd ever been given the choice to walk before he started.

He doesn't want to. Walk, that is. Not really. He's got- responsibilities. He can't leave Sam, Bobby- he can't stop helping people. It's what he does. It's his _job_.

Never mind there's apparently a heavenly host just waiting to rip Sam apart.

He's afraid of hell. He's sane: of course he's afraid of it. He's afraid Sam is damaged. And he thinks, sometimes, that it goes all the way back. That Sam dying in that godforsaken town and Dean's deal were, actually, all a part of the master plan.

Dean has the demons resurrect Sam in their image, and then after a year Sam would fail at saving Dean, who would be condemned to hell. Gets neatly rid of Dean Winchester, and also sends Sam Winchester over the edge.

Oh, and here's the killer: position a "helpful" demon right there to catch Sam when he falls.

It all makes too much sense, and once Dean's thought it, seen the plan in crystal detail, he can't get it out of his head: can't imagine that this wasn't all part of some master demon plan.

For two months, Sam's good about either not using his powers, or about using them so Dean can't track him. Between the rugaru job and the ghost sickness, Sam is Sam.

Bitchy, gassy, normal.

Dean sighs, glances down the dimly-lit street, knows when he turns back Castiel will be there.

"That's really my brother, isn't it?" he asks the building across the street. It's easier than looking at those eyes.

He's not surprised when he's met with complete silence. He is surprised by the hand that curves over his shoulder.

"You are not going back to hell."

"Who said I wa- "

"I did not pull you out so that you would fall once again. That is not your destination."

Dean swallows, exhales into the cold New England air. It's October, but Dean bets it's already snowed here once. New England gets cold _fast_.

"Was that real?" he asks finally. "Was that Lilith- "

"No."

"The sheriff was just paranoid, but I- "

"His imagination had less to torment him with. Paranoia was the culmination of his nightmares. Your nightmares would drive a civilian insane."

"They're not exactly keeping me shiny," Dean snorts, and finally looks at him.

Castiel is gazing up at the stars, but he drops his gaze to Dean's. He never smiles.

And Dean's still alone, because they're about to have this chat, this moment where Dean almost feels like he's got a- like he's got back up. Like it's not all on him. But they're not friends. Dean's just the guy Castiel pulled out of hell.

"I don't know how to save him."

He expects this to fall on empty air. It's about the right point of the conversation for the angel to vanish between one blink and the next- Dean's just starting to feel like maybe he's not entirely alone in this…apocalypse, so that's gotta be the cue for the angel to leave. Remind Dean of his place.

But he's still there.

"You reached for the Bible."

"Hopin' for a miracle." He's almost getting the knack of this- the abrupt changes in conversation. Dad was like this, too; determined to have a conversation on his terms.

"You held it until you gripped your heart."

"I picked it up and Lilleth showed. Is that how it's gonna be? I fight and almost die and you- " he breaks off (_"You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in"_), flinches and clears his throat.

Castiel lowers his head to find Dean's eyes, lifts his chin and frowns. "You're not going to hell, Dean."

Dean wants to say, "Sure, until I fail and you throw me back." Instead he says, "Yeah."

Castiel seems to hear the thought version over the spoken. "I had lost six of my brethren. You did not understand. I spoke…hastily. I was disheartened by our loss with the Witnesses and my own battle." He pauses, and then the corners of his lips turn up and it takes Dean a minute to register, _smile_. "And you have a unique talent for aggravating me."

Dean's not really sure what to do with that.

"I _can_ throw you back," Castiel continues. "But I never would."

"Even if I fail."

Castiel inhales, surveys the frosted street, and the exhales in a plume of hot white breath.

"Saving your brother is not the only task we have for you."

Dean's not exactly thrilled to hear this. In fact, it's more of an _oh shit, not something else_ reaction, if he's being honest.

"Sam…may be too far gone. Some of my brethren believe he has been lost since the night of your mother's death. Others think it was when he turned 22 and his powers manifested, others think it was two years ago, when the crossroads demon raised him. Some believe he is lost entirely. Others believe you can save him.

"Of all the opinions, this is the constant: if anyone is capable of saving Sam Winchester, it is not the hosts of heaven. It is his brother." There's that smile again, and Castiel touches his cheek lightly, thoughtlessly, and Dean- doesn't actually get touched that much. Well, he gets hit. But that doesn't count.

"Still. We knew you before you were born. I didn't send you to 1973 just to catch you up. You had already been there."

Dean stares at him. "This is some Terminator "embrace the paradox" shit, right? It had to happen 'cause it had already happened?"

"Exactly. We knew you then, and we knew that Azazel would be…keen to eliminate Dean Winchester immediately. If he…caused Mary to have an accident while she was pregnant, or created a complication at birth, or you accidentally smothered in your crib- you were a very energetic child. Anything could have happened to you that would have seemed natural. Not registering as unusual to your mother, who was tuned into the supernatural, just a simple accident and the entire course of the future would have changed. Your parents would still have had Sam, and Lucifer would be free to walk again."

"He- "

"Was trying to end you your whole life, yes. When John became a hunter, it was harder for Azazel, and he had more pressing things to concern himself with. Other children to corrupt and tend to, an apocalypse to orchestrate. You…were less of an immediate threat than your father."

"I don't understand."

He tilts his head, stares at Dean impassively and says, "I was there."

"You were there," Dean repeats, blankly. What does that-

"For the first four years of your life. I was there." Castiel sounds- possessive. Like he was there and dared anything to touch Dean, kept Yellow Eyes at bay.

"Why didn't you stop it?" he whispers, brokenly. He knows the answer already, before he even asks the question, but he can't not ask.

"We couldn't. We knew that you were…ours. That you had to survive. But we could not interfere. Not directly. Not until now."

Dean closes his eyes, and nearly convinces himself that it's the cold that's stinging his eyes.

"I was unable to walk beside you then," Castiel murmurs, shoulder a warm solid press against Dean's. "I can now."

* * *

_Dean_

Dean wakes up with a jolt, and Sam's already got bagels and coffee on the table, engrossed in his laptop.

Dean's pretty sure he's got a livejournal account. "Dear internet, today I woke up demonic."

"You fell asleep with the Bible in your hand," Sam says. "What's up with that? Found religion?"

"Just wanna know what we're in for," Dean grunts. With effort he heaves himself up and goes to the bathroom, spitting and brushing his teeth and trying to wake up. He just fucking hates mornings. He bets it's even a Monday.

"So, apparently there have been 17 different sightings of Tituba in the past month," Sam reports in that _I went to college_ way (actually, he was like that before he went to college, but Dean doesn't really care enough to correct an observation before his second cup of coffee). "Might be our thing."

"Who?" Dean demands, flushing and coming back out. Sam gives him a disapproving look, like somehow taking a leak is unacceptable behavior.

Maybe demons don't piss.

Dean really needs coffee.

"Tituba," Sam repeats impatiently. "The slave all the people of Salem accused of being a witch. She kind of started the whole thing- she told the witch stories and the girls who heard her stories went on to accuse other people. She was the first person to confess."

"I woulda thought she was gonna cause trouble, she'd've done it before now," Dean points out, biting into a bagel.

"That's the thing. She didn't get executed. She named people, and confessed, and then got sold, and no one knows what happened to her after."

Dean frowns. "So what's she doing haunting Salem?"

"I don't know."

"Great. That's a lot to go on," Dean huffs. Sam makes Bitchface #4: "My brother is such a dumbass, and today I will make his life hell".

"Where are you going?" Sam demands, looking up from the computer as Dean grabs his coat.

"Out," Dean replies, and slams the door behind him. He pulls out his cell phone, swallows, and dials Narumi with a preemptive wince.

"Boy, I don' even wanna know what y'all are into now," Narumi informs him before he even gets a word in. This is a new phone. He hasn't spoken to her in over three years- not since before Sam came back. She is that kind of freaky.

Dean likes Narumi. She's a hoodoo priestess down in New Orleans. Rode out Katrina, and last he heard she was making sure every house built had some sorta protection. Narumi is _awesome_. She's just not terribly impressed by _him_.

"Listen, I need a favor."

"No, I'd'a never thought it," she snorts. There's the soft jingle of silver in the background, the clack of wood.

"What do you know about Tituba?"

"That poor woman. That was a case of a dabbler gone in over her head." It takes Dean a second to work through her heavy southern accent, and when he does he frowns.

"Dabbler- what'd'you mean, over her head?"

"Oh, those girls were already practicin' the devil's work. She was tryin' to counteract it. Her mama'd been a priestess, she knew a little. Not enough. You look it up, she confessed to things like pinchin' or chokin' those girls who'd been 'afflicted'. My ass. They didn't find one doll, no charms, no nothin'. And they said she was flyin' on a pole, an' readin' the devil's book. You go on and tell me, what book'd the devil ever write?"

"Wait- what'd you mean, they were already practicing?"

"Oh, some witch'd gotten to 'em. Ruby, her name was. Tituba was tryin' to save them."

"What would make Tituba- "

"Unfinished business. Mah guess is that Ruby's back walkin' the area, and Tituba's tryin' to protect people. I'd go afta Ruby, not that poor ghost. She'll sleep easy once the witch's dead. Plus, y'all'll never find where she was buried. Nobody knows what happened to her after she left Salem."

Dean exhales, cracks his neck. One a scale of suck to awesome, this is _negative suck_. Ruby'd already been a demon by that time, if he was doing the math right. Apparently she hadn't seen the light yet.

"Thanks, Narumi. I'll try not to call again."

"See ya don't," she retorts, and hangs up on him.

_"Damnit,"_ he tells his coffee cup as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

It never even crosses his mind that it's not Sam's Ruby. Thing is, there aren't a lot of protective spirits. Mom. Isaiah Merchant, kinda Claire Beggar (but she was a Death Omen, though Isaiah sort of fell into that category…okay so just Mom…)… yeah, that might be it in Dean's experience, which is sad, but still means they're out there, trying to help.

And if Tituba is one, or at least a Death Omen, and Narumi's right (which…she hasn't exactly been wrong yet since Dean met her seven years ago, so…) then Ruby is…

"Aw, _damnit_," he repeats, and stomps back to the hotel room, finishing his coffee in one final hot swallow.

Now, normally seeing his younger brother trying to fuck some chick through two layers of clothes would crack him up him. Make his whole damn day to have something that awesome to tease Sam about- possibly his whole damn month, even. Dean does not get enough opportunities like this.

This is not a normal circumstance, so he slams the door and says, normal as he can manage,

"Ruby."

Sam jumps away almost guiltily, but Dean's known Sam a long time and this isn't the "shit! I'm in trouble! I fucked up!" guilty, this is the "crap, this is awkward" guilty.

Dean raises his eyebrows, and Ruby buttons up her shirt and rolls her eyes.

"Aw, am I ruinin' your fun?" he drawls. "Well now. That's a shame."

"Don't you have somewhere better to be?" she inquires sweetly. "Like, hell?"

"Funny, I was gonna ask you- "

"Will you both just stop?" Sam demands. "Look. Dean, I'm sorry, okay? But I'm not exorcising- "

"That's pretty obvious, unless you can do it with your tongue down her tonsils. You ever think you're rapin' that chick she's living inside of, Sammy? Does she get a say?"

Sam doesn't flinch. Sam _doesn't flinch_. He just sighs, and rolls his eyes in that, _I can't believe my brother is such an idiot_ way. Dean's blood runs cold, because that's just- that's not his brother.

"What about your angel?" he asks in that patient voice that just pretends not to be a sneer.

"Okay. First? I'm not screwin' him. And second? You really wanna compare the two? Why don't you ask Ruby here about Tituba?"

Ruby's dark eyes narrow and sharpen, and then she glances at Sam. Dean smiles tightly, cruelly.

"I don't know what he's talking about- " she starts.

"Dean, what does this have to do with anything?" Sam demands.

Dean looks between them. "Right. Tell you what. I'm gonna work this job. If she's here when I come back, Sam?" He pulls the Colt out of the waistband of his jeans and is vindicated by the twitch from Ruby and the jerk of surprise from Sam. "She's toast."

He wanders around the town, cooling off. Can't hunt shit when you want to kill your brother and the demon he's apparently fucking. It smells pretty awfully of fish closest to the ocean, and there's a sewage processing plant that's pretty ripe, but he wanders into the old cemetery because…well, he's looking for a ghost. And he always feels more comfortable in cemeteries.

She's an Indian woman, which surprises him. About fifty, with grey-streaked hair, and she flickers in and out, almost uncertainly. The closer he gets the more she sinks in on herself, like- like _she's_ afraid of _him_.

"You- Are you Tituba?" he asks, going for gentle. Sam was always better at this- the whole 'trust me, I'm a good guy' thing. Maybe Dean really is a dick.

She nods, slowly.

"I'm Dean," he says, feeling a fool. "Look- are you here about Ruby?"

"Dem garls musta be be protected," she says, and he can't place the accent. Almost English, but maybe a little Jamaican… "She'sa not good. Ah tried, but Ah am notta so knowing how to protect dem." She flickers, and then she's right in front of him. "She'sa gonna try agane. Dem garls- dem poah garls- she infecta dem. Not deir faults."

"I know," he replies, trying to calm her down. She's _crying_, wringing her hands guiltily. "It wasn't your fault- she's a demon. I don't know if a full hoodoo priestess coulda stopped her."

She puts her hands on his arm, and he shivers. "Not gonna be garls, dis time. It'sa boy-mon. He be in her grip already-now. He'sa evil-kind. Worse dan her. She crossin' hem ovah to der side. Entire warld gonna foll, Dean Winchestah. You gotsta stop it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's all right, Tituba," a familiar voice says, and the hand that curves over his shoulder in what's becoming a familiar manner warms him. "You can rest easily."

She smiles, her whole face clearing and brightening. "Oh, youse here. You'll help 'im. Dean Winchestah, youse in gooda hands. It all be well." The white orbs that took Dad away circle her, and she fades away.

"She had a good heart," Castiel observes.

"She knew you."

"Her spirit recognized my true form," he demurs. "I have not been engaged actively on this earth in 2000 years."

"So what's the real story on Jesus?" Dean demands, turning to look at him. 'Cause he wants to know.

Castiel smiles slightly, shrugs. "He was a general in the Lord's army."

"I thought he was for peace."

"The battle was different that time." He looks at Dean slowly, meaningfully, but Dean's not sure what he's getting at, and pretty positive he doesn't want to know.

"I need pie," he decides.

* * *

_Waitress_

It's not like you have to be a hawk-eyed waitress to notice them. Hell, everyone in the diner notices them. They're too pretty not to be noticed, but Jenna steers them to her section and, while the stockier one with the pretty lips and green eyes heads for the john, she leans against the table and fixes the other one with a smile.

He smiles back, and if she didn't know that he was taken her heart might have fluttered, because it's been a very long time since so handsome a man smiled at her like that.

"What can I getcha, honey?" she asks.

"We'll have two slices of- what is your special pie?"

"It's October," she laughs. "It's pumpkin."

"Is it very good?" he asks seriously. Must be their first date or something, for him to be so worked up about it.

"It's the best in Salem," she promises.

He considers this. "We'll have two large slices and he'll have coffee, please."

He hands her a fifty, and she brings back the slices of pie that are almost bigger'n the plate with fresh whipped cream on top, the coffee for his boyfriend, and his change ($42.87).

He smiles at the pie, which is still warm from the oven, and then blinks at the change. "Oh no," he says. "That's yours."

She stares at him, but he seems serious, so she goes back behind the counter and May and Mamoudo all want to know what she did, but she just shrugs.

His boyfriend comes back out, and blinks delightedly at the pie and sets to it like a kid would. She watches them, and they seem happy together, and she wishes that she could have a romance like that again. Forget the five kids at home and her husband.

* * *

_Dean_

When Dean comes back from taking a leak there's a piece of pumpkin pie bigger than his hand and a steaming cup of coffee beside it, which is just _awesome_.

"So…not that I'm not enjoyin' the company," Dean says around the absolutely _fantastic_ pumpkin pie, "but don't you have…epic…things to be doing?"

"Do you want to be rid of me?"

"No- no." And it's true. Dean likes the company, for all he's terrified half the time.

"It came to our attention that leaving you alone was not helpful to you nor our cause. And- if it is too late for Sam- "

"It's not."

"But if it is, then leaving you with the antiChrist would be an enormous tactical error."

"Why?"

"This brings us back to our last conversation. I wasn't lying when I said we've been watching you; that you're one of ours. But I think you don't understand what that means. _You_ are important to the apocalypse. The demons want you out of the way. And we want you to fight on our behalf."

"What, so Sam was supposed to be Yellow Eyes' demon general and I'm- "

He breaks off because Castiel is smiling in satisfaction, like Dean's finally got it, and- no.

Just.

No.

"No," Dean says hastily. "No, no- I am not your guy. I don't play well with others- I have sex. Lots of sex. Some of it with men. And I like it. And I swear, and - "

"Dean. If committing a sin kept you out of heaven and disqualified one from the Lord's army, then it would be comprised of children entirely, most younger than age 6."

There's probably some truth to that.

"Yeah, but angels don't- " There's this look he's getting that makes him break off. "Do you?"

"Pleasures of the flesh are an expression of love. Worship of God's creation."

Dean chokes on his pie, because he gets a very vivid mental image of Castiel on his knees sucking Dean's cock.

"You," he wheezes, pointing his fork at the man across the table, who's smiling like he knows _exactly_ what Dean's thinking (and he probably does, which Dean doesn't even want to think about), "are not allowed to say shit like that. I mean, what's- your- " he glances around, gestures to Castiel's meatsuit, and says, "_he_ say about that?"

"You don't understand," Castiel murmurs. "He is with the Lord his God. I inhabit this body alone. His soul has joined Heaven."

Dean stares. "You can do that?"

"The Lord commanded it. Only demons force their hosts to remain with them. The man who owned this body previously, Robert, would be horrified at the battles I fight, the terrors I see, the deeds I commit. To subject an innocent man to the deeds of a soldier is an abomination, and the Lord does not permit it." He looks at Dean quizzically when all Dean does is stare, and then gestures with his fork to Dean's plate. "You have pie left."

Dean…doesn't really taste it as he finishes it.

Sam is alone when Dean gets back. "Where- "

"Tituba's gone. She was like Isaiah Merchant, trying to protect and warn people."

"She's gone."

"Yeah, like Dad."

"Dean, we should talk."

"You know what, Sam, if this is one of those times we need to talk and then you lie to me, and Castiel ends up doin' some angel shit to get me to try to stop you 'cause you can't tell the truth? I'm just not interested."

"Dean, come on, man. You were gone."

"It was four months, Sam. Four months. And-and what? You decide after what? Two? That it's time to stop. Game over, you're not gettin' me back, might as well start fuckin' the- "

"Hey!"

"Oh, what? Come on, Sam! Bobby said you left me whole in the ground so I'd have a body to come back to. Not that I'm not grateful, but if you were movin' on? What the hell were you thinkin' not saltin' and burnin' my ass?"

_ "I couldn't let you go!"_ Sam roars back, and _finally_ there's a reaction. "I couldn't save you and I didn't have time to hole up in some library with Bobby and figure out some last minute plan, Dean! All those demons that got out two years ago are still out, and they're getting angrier and worse by the day and I'm sending them back to hell and I don't understand why you can't see that!"

His hands reach out and then fall, fingers twitching, and Dean frowns. Sam raises his hand again and touches Dean's face and says,

"I couldn't get you back. And they can, and they did, and now he's threatened to send you back- "

"I never told you that."

"I wasn't exactly asleep that night."

"I _dreamt_ that," Dean barks back.

Sam sighs. "That's what he wants you to- "

"When did you get to be such an expert?"

"Look. Dean. I'm tired of fighting. Maybe we should just- Bobby says he's got a wind of some omens over some town in Wisconsin. Let's just- do the job."

And Dean gives in because he's not sure how to fight this one. He's not sure where to hit Sam so that he'll get the reaction he wants, needs, because Sammy's suddenly bipolar. One second he's that kid Dean grew up with, that kid Dean raised, and the next he's a complete stranger wearing Sam's body (_"No one's possessing me, Dean. This is what I'm going to become. This is what I want to become."_)

So they pack up, turn in the room key, Dean picks one of his five albums, puts it in, and they're off for Wisconsin. Dean tries to get into the groove of the road, where his mind evens out and there's nothing but driving and music and he's not being confined in a tight space with a guy who's over six feet, but _free_.

Except Sam keeps staring at him. Like- sort of like he did with the ghost sickness thing, only worse, like Dean's the case. Like Dean's the puzzle Sam's gotta solve.

"Dude, what?" he finally demands. "I cut myself shaving?"

"As if," Sam snorts, because he's a 14 year old girl. "When was the last time you did shave? No. I just- you saw him, didn't you?"

Dean's mouth is flooded with pumpkin pie taste and he grins a little at the memory, and Sam goes from Bitchface #5 ("I'm mildly displeased") to Bitchface #584 ("I'm seriously pissed, and not going to tell you why, why don't you guess while I torture you over whatever it I that I'm angry about and not going to talk about"). "We had pie."

"He bought you- " Sam breaks off, and then says carefully, "Dean, are you trying to tell me that the soldier angel is bribing you with pie?"

"No. I'm sayin' we had _pie_, and that he, unlike some other people, remembers my pie." Dean feels a little bad about harping on this, but then again, it is _pie_, and he almost understands those pagans with the scarecrow. Almost.

Their pie was really good.

Sam mutters something about how Dean is easy, and Dean cranks up Jovi, and they don't really talk much until they get to Wisconsin.

* * *

_Father Ian Mahoney_

Father Ian Mahoney is 82 years old, as served at St. Bronislava's for 47 years, and has known his fair share of hunters.

They come in every so often, wanting information, holy water, a rosary; sanctuary, sometimes. He gives it.

If he'd known of the battle when he was younger, he would have fought in it, but now his role is that of a supporter.

The young man has the look of a hunter.

"I'm Sam- " he starts. "Um, Bobby- "

"Ah, yes, the omens," Father Mahoney agrees. "Well, I don't know who they've got, is the trouble. But it's set in right here in Plover, I promise you that."

"Nobody's missing, no- " he breaks off as another man comes in and slides into the pew beside him. "You were sleeping," he says quietly, explaining. Father Mahoney watches the way they fit in each other's space and thinks, _brothers_.

"No big," the other one replies, shrugging and smiling up at Father Mahoney expectantly.

That's when he sees it.

The boy is bathed in this…no. It seems to come from within him, the light. He shines brighter than his brother, casts all else to shadow.

"You were saying, Father?" Sam prompts, but how can he ask about omens and possessions when he is in such close proximity to-

It has to be.

His brother widens his green eyes and shifts uncomfortably, glancing at his companion and then at Father Mahoney.

"You are come," Father Mahoney manages around the lump in his throat. He is _beautiful_ and to think he should live to see this- live to see the end of days, the Messiah returned-

"What?" the Messiah asks, blankly.

"What d'you think he is?" Sam inquires sharply.

"I do not think, my son," Father Mahoney breathes, tears standing in his eyes. "I know. He is our savior returned."

The Messiah rubs his right arm over the biceps, and says quietly, "Castiel."

The name has no meaning to him, but even as they leave, Father Mahoney stands and wonders that here, in a little town in Wisconsin, he has seen the second coming.

* * *

_Dean_

They figure out who's being possessed, despite the crazy priest. It's kids, which Dean hates. Possessed, all of them, and yeah, okay, it's creepy as shit and wrong and sends out a message, but Dean _really fucking hates it_ when it's kids.

They're pretty…powerful demons, he realizes right after he gets pinned to the ceiling, and wow, okay, this is wrong…and if he falls he's going to fall on that glass coffee table and he has seen enough television and movies and hey, he's even lived it enough to know that _no good_ comes from glass coffee tables.

He doesn't struggle, because…well. It's not like he's gonna exorcise them by squishing them when he falls to his death.

Sam bursts into the room, looks around and then at the kids. "Where is he?" he demands.

"We hung him like the sun," the cute little girl says, her full cheeks rounding into a delighted, adorable, completely fucking insane smile.

Sam frowns in confusion, tilts his head, then gets it and looks up.

Dean wiggles his fingers. "A little help?"

Sam stares at him, and Dean a minute to figure out why he's freaking, except yes, okay, Dean is pinned to the ceiling like Jess, and like Mom.

Except Yellow Eyes is toast, so nobody's cutting Dean's stomach open and burning up the nursery. For one thing, this is the living room.

"Sam…"

Sam looks at the kids and snaps, "Get him down."

They sneer at him and okay- never mind, apparently Dean will be getting sliced and diced today. He grits his teeth and strains against the pain, but he can't fight this- he's pinned to the goddamn ceiling and they're cutting his torso into ribbons, blood dripping from him onto the cream-colored carpet.

"Sam!" he shouts, inhaling sharply and shit- was that a whimper?

"Let him go _now_!" Sam repeats, steadier this time, and his hand reaches out and they stare at him, clustered together and resentful, and then the cute little girl says,

"So it is you. And it is him." She gazes up at him, and Dean looks back at her, wondering what the fuck that means and why Sam is talking to the demons and hey, how long does it take to bleed out? "You should let us end him."

"He's _mine_," Sam snarls, and then the demons are screaming. Sam lets up- whatever the hell he's doing, and looks at them all in turn. "Remember that. None of you _touch_ him. Spread the word."

It's like he's cut a cord or something, 'cause all of a sudden the kids are vomiting up the demons, which seem to burn into the carpet… and keep on falling down.

All the way.

"Help me," Sam says, and shit, Jesus fuck it's Ruby. "He's unconscious."

No, he's not…it's just that his eyes have swollen almost shut and the kids made him pretty much mute and he's pinned to the ceiling so he can't talk.

And yet, it seems like a really good idea to play along, because this is a whole new kind of weird that they've gotten into.

Dean floats down (yeah, right, so only banishing demons is Sam's talent, his _ass_), and Sam cradles him gently. "Get some ice," he says to Ruby, and his hands stroke Dean's cheeks before he lays him down, pulls the jacket off him and then his shirt gets neatly sliced off so Sam can look and see what's going on, and about this time Dean's floating in and out of consciousness, but Sam whispers, "Don't you dare. Don't you dare leave. _I've_ got you," while his hands are…petting Dean.

Dean's glad for the embrace of nothingness when he slides into it.

* * *

_Ruby_

See, here's the thing. Dean died, and Sam was _real_ broken up about it. But nobody wanted to make a deal. See, someone like Lilith gets taken down, rendered impotent like that? Even the hell hounds gossip about a thing like that. So Ruby floats around hell, watches Dean's soul get ripped to shreds over and over again and yeah, it's probably the best fun she's had in a couple hundred years.

And then Sam raises her. It's about two months later, and he looks wretched, but she slides into a pretty girl's body and touches his cheek and pets his hair and tells him that he has to master his powers now, because with Dean out of the way everyone in hell will be coming for him.

Sam just looks at her and says, "I know."

And after that, it was two months of demon hunting. And it was an energy rush, for both of them.

Got her all hot and bothered seeing the devil find himself right in front of her, got him hard and horny sending demons back to hell.

When they fucked it was good and hard, biting teeth and ripped clothes and up against walls and on the floor and couch but never in the bed.

He likes to make her scream.

She likes to hear the girl she's riding scream in horror every time that huge dick slammed home. Made it all the sweeter.

But now Dean's back, and she's not getting laid, and Sam's not getting laid, and Dean is still that obnoxious holier-than-thou shit.

Except the angels pulled him- no. Not the angels. The angel. Castiel. Castiel, who slaughtered millions of her kind the last time they all did this.

Castiel raised Dean, marked him, and now Castiel and Sam are in a pissing contest over Dean.

No good can come of this.

She sighs, pulls her hair back, and goes to lurk outside the boys' motel, where Dean Winchester, fucking asshat extraordinaire, is recovering from his latest brush with death.

* * *

_Dean_

"Just what we need," Dean snorts. "Another freak in the family. Yellow Eyes has a plan for you- whatever that may be- "

"Dean, I told you- "

"And apparently now I'm Jesus," Dean continues, ignoring the interruption. "This is so wrong. Almost as wrong as angels having sex."

"Wait- what? Have you and he- "

"No."

"Not yet."

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"He's using you, Dean! How can you not see that you're being manipulated? He's- he throws you around, Dean. And you let him!"

"He what?"

"He threatened to throw you back in. He's cryptic, he's hardly helpful with anything- "

"I'm not arguing with any of that," Dean replies, frowning at him. "But I still don't see the point. I'm allowed to have friends, Sam."

"That's what he is, Dean? He's an _angel_, not your very own invisible friend." Sam breaks off, sighs, and turns to him, leaning close. "Dean. I'm worried about you. About what they're doing to you."

Sam- the Sam Dean knows? He'd be huffing. Bitchfaces would make appearances, and he'd sulk.

This is- "Let go of me."

"Dean."

"Let go of my hand, Sam."

"Dean, come on- "

"Let the fuck _go_!"

Sam's grip on his wrist tightens painfully, and Dean glances up to catch the murky yellow swirls of his irises and pupils, laced with red.

Dean fumbles the Colt out of his jeans, and points it unsteadily with his left hand.

"You're not gonna shoot me, Dean."

"Let go of my wrist."

"Okay. Okay, fine. I'm sorry. We can talk about this."

He lets Dean's hand go, and Dean doesn't rub it, but he _wants_ to.

"Do you remember- in that cabin. After we busted Dad out from Meg and Yellow Eyes came after us… only Dad was Yellow Eyes?" Dean asks, swallowing hard, transferring the Colt to his right hand and keeping it steady between him and Sam.

"Yeah, of course, Dean," Sam replies, frowning in concern. It's too- his face just goes too smooth. He's too unruffled. He's _playing_ at being human.

"I knew Dad better'n anyone. I knew it wasn't him." Dean breaks off, swallows again and blinks. "Thing is, Sammy. I raised you. Got you registered for school, made sure you had money for lunch, got food on the table, helped you with your projects. I was there when you said your first word, and when you took your first step, shot your first ghost… banged your first chick. Taught you to drive. I know you.

"And you're not my brother. I didn't want to- I thought maybe it was me. Coming back from hell- it's gotta mess a person up, right? I thought, nah, it's all me- It's not. You're wrong. You're lord of the demons. And Sammy- you know I'd do anything to save you." Dean's grip finally tightens, steadies. "Only you don't want savin'."

"Dean, don't- "

"See, that's what I can't figure out. Why d'you need me? Then I figured- you don't. You just can't kill me, and you don't want them to have me."

Dean steps back, knowing when he does he'll hit Castiel's shoulder with his own, and feels the hand on his back.

"See ya 'round, Sammy."

* * *

_Bobby_

Gonzales and Palin bark up a storm, and then shut up real quick, so Bobby hauls ass to the door.

It's just Dean and Sam- except no.

It's Dean, lookin' as close to wrecked as Bobby's seen him since right after that kid cut Sam's spine. The man with him's as much carryin' the damn fool as he is walking beside him.

"Sam Winchester has made his decision," the man says.

Bobby swears and waves to the couch. "He'll come lookin' for you both here, you gotta know that."

"I just- Bobby," Dean manages, and scrubs his face. The other man sits beside him, puts an arm around him.

"It mighta been too late, Dean," Bobby says, offering the angel a beer, which he (no surprise here) declines. Bobby swigs his, doesn't offer oen to Dean.

They both know what happened the last time Dean got alcohol and lost Sam: he sold his soul. Angel or no, this is not the time to mix a Winchester with beer.

"I couldn't save him," Dean whispers.

"You need to sleep," the angel says, pressing his lips to the boy's forehead. Dean's eyes slide shut and he leans against the angel's shoulder.

"You two are mighty close," Bobby observes. Just figures Dean'd end up with an angel.

"Things will start moving very quickly now that Sam has lost Dean," the angel replies absently. "Dean was right. Sam could not bear to kill him, but he couldn't turn him. Dean was the impossible challenge to Sam's ascension, but his betrayal will serve as the catalyst that hastens that very ascension. The Seals will break faster."

"And then what? Sam's- "

"Lucifer. Or…his host. Lucifer is a concept, a power. Azazel funnelled the personality and will into himself. He was the vessel who chose the hosts, and Samuel is the last remaining host. Survivor."

"Sam is the devil."

"Yes."

"And what is Dean, then?"

"A warrior. We have work for him."

"Funny. I got a call from Ian Mahoney, swears up and down that boy's the second coming. I've known Dean Winchester most of his life. Virginal pacifist savior, he ain't."

"That is not the battle this time around. New times call for a new savior. Can you think of anyone better?"

"No." 'Cause he can't. Not a damn person's better for that task, for throwin' himself off cliffs for people he don't even know. Just 'cause he's got this fundamental belief they oughta live.

* * *

They retreat to the east coast, because Sam's holed up in L.A..

Hunters pour into Boston, down the East Coast. Psychics, angels, preachers and priests. And Dean, smack in the middle of it.

Bobby'd be proud of him- is proud of him. Dean's not good at makin' false promises. He yells at people a whole hell of a lot more than he reassures them.

But the yellin' works.

Bobby, Ellen, and Missouri circle around Dean like fussing mother hens (and Bobby won't never live this shit down), actin' like advisors as much as they can.

Won't be long, now.

* * *

_Jo_

Jo can't believe it. Dean Winchester, the second coming.

And Sam…well. Back when Sam'd been possessed and said all that about her Dad- that's never really left her. She's not exactly surprised to hear Sam's the devil.

She's weirdly impressed. John and Mary Winchester had some really incredible kids.

She comes back with vague, half-baked thoughts of being there for Dean. That maybe they'd fall in together, somehow. She's got her independence: she's been huntin' for two years now. She's not that naive 18 year old anymore.

Still.

Some fantasies die hard, you know?

So when she wanders through the brownstone that seems to be the base of operations and finds Dean with his back against a wall, another man boxing him in, her first instinct is to help.

Then the other man- he's an angel, isn't he? Her mom said he was. That he was Dean's…well, Mom said he was Dean's new Sam, but Bobby'd snorted and said that was bullshit and incest besides- kisses Dean, and Dean's hands rest on the other man's waist and he [kisses him back](http://waldorph.livejournal.com/40220.html) and that's-

The thing is? Dean just looks so fucking happy, peaceful, and _loved_.

She closes the door silently.

* * *

_Sam_

Dean looks good.

Same coat, hair's the same, still hasn't mastered the fine art of shaving.

The Colt sits, snug and familiar in his right hand.

Sam thrills, sneers, and Hell yearns.

Ruby wipes Lilith's blood from her mouth with a long swipe of her thumb, and the hounds bay and frolic around Sam's knees.

This is his world. He will have _all_ worlds. Eat them, taste them and still yearn for more. His hunger is epic; insatiable.

He wonders how Dean will taste. Hell remembers, but Sam has never had the pleasure of knowing for himself.

Castiel is there, and the Heavenly Host, though they're not as Sam was always raised to believe. They don't have harps, or fluffy wings. Instead they have guns, knives, swords, and their eyes are beautiful and terrible.

Bobby is there, and Ellen, and Missouri and Jo and Tamara and hosts and legions of hunters and their kind.

And how interesting: Dean has raised souls behind him. The last Seal, broken for the other side, and Mom, Dad, Pastor Jim, Ash, Caleb, Ellen's husband, Gordon, Meg, Tamara's husband and child…

"They've levelled the playing field," he observes.

Bela tosses her hair over her shoulder, and Ruby sneers prettily.

"It doesn't matter," Bela murmurs, trailing her fingers sweetly down the curve of Ruby's breasts. "We'll have them all."

Dean walks forward a little, and Sam can see that light the priest talked about years ago. Shines right from within him, almost backlights him.

Dean is beautiful.

"'M not supposed to do this," Dean says. "I've been… counseled otherwise." There's an ironic twist to his lips, at that. "I've got a council, now, Sam. Can I just tell you how weird this is?"

Sam lifts an eyebrow. Dean nods, glances down and smiles before lifting his green eyes to Sam's.

"Thing is, Sammy? I love you. And I forgive you. For all of it."

He raises the Colt.

"But I am gonna end it."

* * *

_"Please, Dean, you're the only one who can do it. You have to promise me."   
"I promise."_


End file.
